The Avengers: The Marvelous Masquerade
by skywalker17
Summary: What happens when the Avengers go to Hogwarts? Chaos. (Marvel x Harry Potter Crossover AU)
1. A New Year

**(Authors Note: Hiya! Some of you may recognize this story, as I started it a few years ago. Now I'm in the process of rewriting and hopefully finishing it. This is a Harry Potter/Marvel crossover, but it should be noted that all I'm doing is taking characters from Marvel and inserting them into the Harry Potter universe. As such, there won't be any Harry Potter characters in this story. This is just a fun one that I'll be working on over the summer, but feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think! Happy reading :))**

* * *

The Hogwarts Express was never late. Among other things, this was perhaps one of the greatest truths of the Wizarding World. This was also the reason that Steve Rogers was in such a state of distress on September 1st, 2012.

His thin, wobbly legs pounded the pavement of King's Cross Station as he dodged and weaved his way through the huddled mass of people making their way along. The watch strapped around his spindly wrist taunted him as the hands ticked closer and closer to Eleven O'Clock. Steve's heart was pounding, beads of perspiration starting to form underneath his thick blond hair.

Pushing his cart through the crowd while mumbling excuses and apologies, the boy approached Platform 9 ¾ . Pausing to take a deep breath, Steve slicked back his hair and straightened his clothes. Gripping the cart's handle, he closed his eyes and launched himself forward, straight into the brick platform. When his blue eyes fluttered open, he found himself standing in Hogwarts Station.

To his great relief, Steve saw that the Hogwarts Express was still there, although its engines were roaring with impatience as it awaited its annual journey. Parents were lined up along the edge of the platform, waving their last farewells as students leaned out the windows. Steve quickly dropped off his trunk at the luggage compartment, making it in the nick of time as they prepared to close the cargo doors. With his backpack slung over his shoulder, Steve pelted to the closest train car and scampered aboard.

All eyes in the car turned to him, and Steve found himself greeting a wave of unfamiliar faces. First years. Steve dipped his head to the new students and hopped into the next car to find a crowd of sixth years. He ignored the usual bouts of giggles and continued on to the next car. It was there that he found his fellow fifth years. A familiar face emerged from the nearest compartment; a Slytherin boy of average height and build with thick, mahogany hair, dark brown eyes, and designer sneakers that cost more than Steve's apartment.

"Late already, Rogers?" the boy said with a leering smirk. Steve pursed his lips.

"A pleasure as always, Stark," he murmured, slipping past the boy.

"Oi! Steve!" Steve craned his neck to see a tall, muscular boy with black hair beckoning to him. He burst into a grin, rushing through the car to tackle his best friend, James Buchanan Barnes.

"Bucky," Steve exclaimed, wrapping his friend in a tight embrace. "Sorry I'm late." he mumbled as he pulled away. The two boys claimed the last empty compartment in the train.

"Never mind that," Bucky answered, waving his hand in dismissal as he plopped down on the seat opposite Steve. "Was Stark bothering you again?" he asked with a slight frown. "I'd be more than happy to go shut him up for the next week." Steve chuckled as his friend's hands curled into fists.

"Then he'd sneak some nasty potion into your food for revenge," he answered. Bucky shrugged.

"You always were the righteous one," he replied, his broad shoulders relaxing. "Now," the brown-haired boy continued. "How is she?" Steve sighed.

"Not well, I'm afraid," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "The doctors at St. Mungo's are saying it doesn't look good." Bucky's sea-blue eyes widened in concern.

"Steve, you know," he said after a moment of silence, his tone cautious. "If anything ever happens to your Mum, you...you can always come stay with us." Bucky reached across the compartment, placing a comforting hand on Steve's knobby knee.

"I appreciate it, Buck," Steve said with a weak smile. "But I'll have to find a way to make it on my own." Bucky didn't appear satisfied with that answer, but he didn't argue. Instead, he leaned against the back of his seat and gazed out the window as the Hogwarts Express began to chug out of the station.

On the platform below, Steve spotted row after row of families, waving away their children and siblings. Biting his lip, Steve fought back the small tinge of disappointment. His mother was nowhere to be found on that platform. She was too ill to have made it today. Instead, she had wished him well this morning with a meager breakfast of stale bread and half of a banana. Steve hadn't complained at all, and walked all the way from Camden, London to King's Cross Station without so much as a sigh.

"I can't believe we're in fifth year already," Bucky murmured, dragging Steve away from his thoughts. "It feels like yesterday we were just little first years."

"Those were the days," Steve answered with a chuckle.

"You were so adamant about being sorted into Gryffindor," Bucky recalled with a lop-sided smile. "You wouldn't shut up about it the whole train ride there."

"But I was right, wasn't I?" Steve reminded him with a pointed look. "And Gryffindor has been the best; for both of us."

"I beg to differ." A new voice came from the entrance to the compartment. Steve turned to the doorway, pleased to see another friend standing on a the threshold. It was Sam Wilson, a fourth year Hufflepuff. "The Huffles are where it's at, mate," Sam said with a broad, cheeky grin. He bounded inside and took the seat next to Bucky, who looked a bit perturbed at the interruption.

"We all know you wanted to get into Gryffindor," Bucky retorted with a slight frown. "Besides, Gryffindor whooped you lazy Huffles at the Quidditch Championship last year." Sam folded his arms across his chest.

"We still won the House Cup, Barnes," he shot back. "In case your memory's getting a bit foggy." Bucky didn't have a response for that, and opted to glowering at Sam in silence. Sam settled back into his chair with a smug expression etched across his face.

"So," said Steve, clearing his throat as he tried to change the subject. "Who do you think the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is going to be?"

"I haven't the faintest," Sam answered. "But I'm sure Headmaster Odin will find the best person for the job."

"It won't be hard to find one better than the last professor," Bucky remarked, propping his feet up idly against the window.

"I liked him," Sam argued with a frown. Bucky snorted.

"Because he never gave out assignments, you dolt," he responded. "I've hardly learned a thing in that class."

"You hardly learn a thing in any class, Buck," Steve pointed out. Bucky glared at him in protest.

"At least I don't spend all my classes gawking at Peggy Carter," he fired back. Steve felt his cheeks flushing, and he looked away. His mouth had suddenly gone dry. Sam giggled from across the compartment.

"Well, we all know who you spend your classes gawking at, James," came a smooth, breezy voice from the compartment doorway. The three boys turned in unison to see a tall, leggy redhead leaning against the door frame, her green eyes twinkling like emeralds.

"Why yes," Bucky replied without missing a beat. "It's whichever side of the room you're not on, Romanoff."

"So why don't you crawl back to your Slytherin friends and leave us decent folks alone," Sam added in a cool tone.

"Suit yourself," said the girl. With a careless shrug and a flick of her crimson hair, she drifted away from their compartment.

"Of all the nerve," Sam grumbled, staring after her with a frown.

"She's the only person in the entire world that calls me James," Bucky agreed with a scowl.

"Because she knows how much you hate it, genius," Steve pointed out.

"Hmmph," Bucky grumbled, continuing to frown as he glared out the window. Steve shook his head in resignation.

With their cabin lapsing into silence, Steve turned his attention down to the frayed shoelaces of his sneakers. He exhaled, his thin abdomen slumping against the back of his seat. Now that he was relaxing on the train, anticipation began to bubble inside of his chest. His summer had been long and arduous, and he had been awaiting his return to Hogwarts. Even if half the school thought he was a squib, Hogwarts had always felt safer than the ramshackle apartment he shared with his mother back in London.

Steve could only hope his mother would live through another year of his absence.

* * *

There was no family of greater power or wealth in the wizarding community than the Starks, and no one knew this better than young Anthony Edward Stark. The Slytherin prodigy, known across the board as Tony, thought himself to be quite well acquainted with these truths. They brought him little joy, however, and perhaps this was the reason his shoulders were stiff and his demeanor rigid as he stood on Platform 9 ¾ beside his parents.

Tony's ruffled black hair, worn jeans, and graphic tee presented a startling contrast to the sleek business suit of his father, Howard, and the designer dress worn by his mother, Maria. Tony shoved his hands into his pockets as his mother wrapped him in a loose embrace.

"We'll miss you, son," said Maria Stark, her words gentle. She smiled as she pulled back, but Tony couldn't match her enthusiasm.

"We need to get going," Howard interjected before Tony could respond. The older man glanced down at his watch with a frown.

"Well, don't let the fact that I'm leaving for a year stop you." Tony tightened his lips into a mocking smile. "Those meetings won't run themselves." His father gave him a withering glare.

"These meetings are for your future, Tony," he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "One day, you'll be the head of the greatest wizarding family that's ever lived, and you'll understand the sacrifices that I've had to make." Tony rolled his eyes, shrugging away his father's hand.

"Then get back to your 'sacrificing' and let me get to school," he muttered, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder and turning to the nearest train car.

"We'll write to you!" his mother called to him.

"Keep your grades up!" his father added. Tony ignored them both, then hopped up the steps and ducked into the train car. The conductor blew the horn, signaling the train was nearly ready to pull away from the station.

Tony found an empty compartment near his fellow fifth-year Slytherins, then stashed his backpack in the far corner. He wandered back to the entryway, just in time to see a skinny, blonde boy rush onto the car with a flustered expression etched across his thin face. Tony smirked.

"Late already, Rogers?" he asked. The boy, despite his puny physique, offered Tony a look that would have boiled an egg.

"A pleasure as always, Stark," he retorted, then continued on his way.

An irritable Tony returned to his bare compartment and plopped down on the left-side bench. He reached for his backpack, his hands darting inside to find his worn, leather notebook. His secret box of muggle pens was the next item to emerge (he had always preferred them to quill pens, although he made this known only to a few). Tony propped the backpack behind him for some added comfort as he cracked open the notebook. Scribbles, sketches, and diagrams filled the pages. Tony flipped through them until he found an empty sheet.

As soon as the inky tip of his pen touched the parchment, a familiar voice spoke from the doorway.

"You can't even wait until we leave the station to start writing in that thing, can you?" Tony sighed.

"Rhodey, this is the fun car," he said. "The hum-drum car is back there."

"When have you ever been fun?" the boy retorted, taking a seat across from him. James Rhodes was a fourth-year Hufflepuff, and one of Tony's oldest friends, although he seldom admitted it.

"If you ever came to the Slytherin Common Room after a Quidditch game, I'd show you the meaning of fun." Tony glanced up from his notebook long enough to wink. Rhodey snorted.

"If I wanted to see you downing seven gallons of firewhiskey with four girls on each arm, I'd be there." Tony shot his friend a glare.

"Why did I invite you in here?" he asked. "Oh wait... I didn't." Rhodey smirked.

"It's good to see you too, mate," he murmured. Tony harrumphed, then feigned a look of indifference as he grabbed his pen once more. "What are you working on now?"

"Stuff," was all Tony said. "That's code for 'none of your business', by the way." Rhodey rolled his eyes.

"Whatever it is," he replied. "It must be more important than a civilized conversation with the closest thing you have to a friend."

"Jarvis is my friend."

"An owl isn't a friend." Tony clenched his jaw.

"Pepper's my friend, then," he responded. Rhodey gave him a humorless laugh in return.

"You pay Pepper to do half your homework for you," said the Hufflepuff. "I hardly think that qualifies as a friend."

"I only make her do the boring assignments," Tony grumbled.

"Well, I'm sorry not everyone's a genius like you," Rhodey said with a slight huff in his voice. Tony sighed as he eyed the complex sketches and instructions littering the pages of his beloved notebook.

"You and me both."

* * *

As soon as the Hogwarts Express screeched to a halt, students piled out of the train and onto the brick platform below. Natasha Romanoff, however, was resigned to stay on board. Her new duties as a prefect prohibited her from slipping off the train and losing herself in the crowd, as she had done in years past.

When her assigned cars were empty, the redhead pulled on her Slytherin robes and hopped off the train. She trailed behind the last few stragglers, making her way to the prefect carriage. Her footsteps were quiet, nearly undetectable across the ground as her shoulder-length hair swished behind her.

"Where are you off to, Romanoff?" Natasha held back a sigh as Bucky Barnes jumped off the nearest car and began walking alongside her.

"The prefect carriage," she answered in a blunt, matter-of-fact tone. Bucky's bright blue eyes widened.

"They made you a prefect too?" he said, gaping at her in shock.

"Why yes, James," she replied. "And believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are."

"You're a prefect," Bucky repeated in a scoffing tone. "I'll mark that down as the dumbest decision of the century."

"If you're going to bring up my family history," said Natasha, "I would strongly advise against it."

"And why is that?" Bucky queried. Natasha flashed him a sweet smile.

"Because I picked up a few things from my parents, and always carry a hunting knife." Bucky's face paled and he halted. Natasha strode past him, approaching the prefect carriage with a smirk.

The carriage was already inhabited by a few older prefects, but Natasha was the first of the fifth years. She caught the wary glances from her fellow students, and took a seat at the end of the bench that wrapped around the inside of the cabin. Natasha folded her hands in her lap, waiting. Bucky climbed aboard moments later, throwing a pointed glare in her direction as he sat down across the cabin from her.

The next fifth year to pop inside was a short, thin boy with a brown crew-crut. Clint Barton of Hufflepuff smiled at each prefect before collapsing three seats down from Natasha. His Hufflepuff counterpart, a bright-eyed ginger by the name of Pepper Potts, scurried on board after him. Natasha tapped her foot to hide the beads of sweat starting to form on the back of her neck.

Moments later, another Slytherin slipped aboard; none other than Tony Stark. It wasn't a surprise to anyone that Tony had been appointed a prefect. Although his loose morals and fondness for firewhiskey were notorious, his family name had all but guaranteed him the position.

"Stark," Natasha murmured as the boy took a seat next to her.

"Romanoff," Tony replied, dipping his head. Neither of them bothered to continue any attempts at a conversation. Although they were both Slytherin, their backgrounds were about as similar as a Hippogriff and a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

When all of the prefects had boarded, the carriage began its journey to the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Head Boy and Girl were perched in the center of the cabin, and they rambled on and on, explaining the duties and roles of a prefect. Natasha was only half paying attention, and by the time they had arrived, she was certain she wouldn't remember a single thing.

Being that she was the closest to the door, Natasha was the first to exit. She paused by the Thestrals to give them each a grateful pat on the rump, then hoisted her pack over her shoulder. She bounded up the front stairway two steps at a time, walking through the wide doorway with ease.

The Entrance Hall was packed with a chattering mass of students, all making their way into the Great Hall for the welcome feast.

Natasha snuck into the Hall, then stole a seat at the very end of the Slytherin table, where no one would bother her. She eyed the shortest table at the far end of the Hall, where the Professors were seated. The middle chair was occupied by a tall, lumbering man with a flowing mane of graying blonde hair and magnificent robes of red and gold. One eye was covered with a patch of gold, but it did nothing to lessen the intensity of his stare. The man was, of course, Headmaster Odin.

To his left, sat the Professor of Transfiguration, Thor. The younger man had luxurious blonde hair, a stout, well-built figure, and a wide grin as he cajoled with the man to his right. Natasha felt her eyes narrowing. This man, thin with coal-black hair, was unfamiliar to her.

Before she could question the matter any further, the Headmaster stood to his feet and gestured for silence with a wave of his hand. The Hall fell quiet as students scrambled to their seats. Odin began his annual welcome speech, which Natasha could nearly quote from memory. Then, the first years paraded into the Hall, their small faces alight with a mixture of joy, excitement, and terror. One by one, they were called to the small stool in front of the Professor's table. The Sorting Hat was placed upon by their little heads by Thor, and the children were divided into their different Houses. When this task was completed, Odin stood once more.

"Before we begin our feast, dear students," said the man, his booming voice commanding every ounce of attention. "There is another new face I must introduce to you all." Odin beckoned to the black-haired man, who stood. Natasha, her curiosity taking the best of her, studied the mysterious man; he had a dark, piercing gaze, and wore robes of green and black. His demeanor seemed calm and quiet, but even from a distance, Natasha could see a vast intellect brimming inside of his eyes. "Undoubtedly," Odin continued, stealing her attention once more. "Many of you have been wondering who our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is going to be. I assure you, I have searched far and wide for the best possible replacement, and I believe that the man standing before you is just that. Without further ado, I present to you all, my younger son; Loki."

Murmurs and whispers erupted all around the Great Hall. Natasha listened raptly.

"Loki?" said a nearby sixth year. "Boy, we're in luck."

"I hear he's a Metamorphmagus," another student agreed eagerly.

"I heard he's not actually the Headmaster's son," a third voice chimed in.

"Either way," the sixth year argued. "He'll make a fantastic Professor."

"It is my hope," said Odin, and the Hall was silenced once more. "That you will all give him a warm welcome to Hogwarts. Now, I shan't keep you from your feast any longer."

As mounds of delicious food appeared on the tables, Natasha snuck one last look at this 'Loki'. The man had returned to his seat, and was glancing around the Hall with an odd, inexplicable expression painted across his thin face. Natasha wasn't certain, but she thought for a moment that she caught his gaze. She couldn't ascertain why, but a chill ran down her spine. Her senses tingled.

Natasha looked away for a moment, biting her lip. After a few seconds, she swiveled her gaze back to Loki. The bizarre expression had disappeared, replaced with a wide grin as he spoke with his brother, Thor. Natasha relaxed, and thought that perhaps she had only imagined it.

But her instincts were telling her not to trust this man.


	2. Suspicions

James Buchanan Barnes was the first student to file into Classroom 3C the next morning. With his head held high and his stomach fluttering, he strode to his usual desk in the front left corner and plopped down. He dropped his pack of textbooks on the floor, while Steve took the desk next to him and neatly deposited his underneath his seat. Bucky stretched back in his creaking chair, watching as the rest of the class found their seats. The endless whispers seemed to bounce off the walls.

This was easily the most anticipated class of the morning, as everyone was anxious to see the newest professor at work. Bucky, in particular, was quite ecstatic. Defense Against the Dark Arts had always been one of his best subjects.

Once everyone had been seated, the whispers grew to murmurs. Where was Professor Loki? Bucky exchanged a curious look with Steve, who merely shrugged his thin shoulders.

A side door suddenly flew open with a bang!, and the classroom fell silent. Bucky held his breath as Professor Loki glided into the room. The man's footsteps were smooth and effortless, and a coal-black cloak flowed elegantly behind him. His cool, clear blue eyes commanded every ounce of attention as they swiveled around the room with ease. The tall, lithe man strode in front of the desk, then paused and turned to face the group of bewildered students.

There was a stretch of silence as Loki surveyed the room, his eyes resting for a brief moment on every person. The instant Bucky's gaze met that of the Professor's, he felt a rush of adrenaline. He stared into pools of cerulean; icy, deep, and mysterious. Bucky felt an inexplicable prick of curiosity.

So enamored was he, that the moment Loki spoke, he jumped in his seat.

"Welcome, students," he said. His voice was calm and smooth, neither high nor low. "It is an honor, truly, to be granted such a prestigious role in Wizard Academia. I endeavor to approach this task with all of the dignity that becomes it." A wave of awe crashed over Bucky at the aura of sheer, graceful simplicity this man seemed to present within a few scarce words. "Now," Loki continued, his sharp demeanor relaxing as he began to pace in front of his desk with short, controlled footsteps. "I have not been blind to the flurry of inquiries that have been abounding since my arrival. I'm flattered at such curiosity, and will open the first segment of this class for some questions." The Professor surveyed the class, and there was a brief pause before a boy near the middle of the room timidly raised a hand. Loki nodded, granting him permission to speak.

"What... what's it like to be the brother of Thor?" the boy asked, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Everyone says he'll be the next Headmaster, after all." The thin-lipped smile that crossed Loki's face seemed tight, but his tone showed no sign of irritation.

"It's been... difficult, at times," said the Professor. "Nevertheless, my brother is a great wizard. But then again, so am I." He uttered the last few words with a cajoling voice, and the classroom erupted into light laughter. "Next?" said Loki, and a girl in the front row spoke up.

"Can you tell us any embarrassing stories about him?" she queried hopefully. At this, the Professor chuckled.

"I could tell you many," Loki answered. "But I'm afraid we'd be here all day." The students joined in his laughter again. "Perhaps another time," Loki assured her, and a few hearty cheers followed. "Anyone else?" Loki inquired. Bucky glanced around the room, and watched as Tony Stark raised his hand from the back row. "Ah, yes Mr. Stark?"

"Is it true that you're a Metamorphmagus?" Tony asked, his brown eyes glowing in curiosity.

The room went silent. Bucky felt a prick of surprise at such a blatant query; he had heard some scarce rumors here and there that the younger son of Headmaster Odin was a Metamorphmagus, but as far as he knew, it had never been confirmed. Nevertheless, every eye was on the Professor as the silence stretched on. His expression was indiscernible.

"Well, what would be the fun in ruining the rumors?" he said with a wide, toothy grin. Bucky smirked at the look of annoyance etched across Tony's face. "But alas" Loki continued, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "I may accept some more questions at the end," There was a wave of groans and protests that swept over the room, but they were silenced by a stern look from the young Professor. "Please open your books to page five," said Loki, a strange glint inside of his sharp eyes. "Let us begin."

* * *

Tony chewed on the end of his mechanical pencil, staring at the sheet of scribbles on the table below him. All around, the mindless hustle and bustle of the Great Hall was abounding, but Tony had grown used to blocking the noises out. A group of popular Slytherin girls were surrounding him at the table, but Tony was hardly paying attention, mumbling half-hearted answers as he penned his latest thoughts into his worn notebook. When the girls finally gave up and moved down the table towards more interesting prey, Tony sighed out in relief. He only had so much patience for them.

A soft warble came from beside him, and Tony glanced up to see a pale, gray owl perched on the table. A letter was caught inside his beak, and Tony removed it delicately. He dug inside his pockets for a treat, then offered it to the owl, who took it with a gratefully hoot.

"Thanks Jarvis," he murmured, patting the owl on his feathery head before the bird launched himself into the air and took off back to the owlery. Tony absent-mindedly picked a blueberry from a bowl of fruit in front of him, and munched on the fruit as he turned back to his notebook.

"Nice to see some things haven't changed," a familiar voice said. Tony's gaze shot up to see a tall girl taking the seat across from him. She had long, ginger hair, an overabundance of freckles, and soft blue eyes. Her crisp uniform bore the crest of Hufflepuff.

"Ah, Miss Potts," Tony greeted her, pushing his notebook aside as he grabbed his book-bag and pulled out a single sheet of parchment. "Here's this week's assignments," he said, handing her the list. The girl, none other than Pepper Potts, took the list and eyed it with a dubious gaze.

"This is a lot to do," she remarked. Tony sighed, then placed a heavy pouch of coins onto the table and slid it over to her.

"You'll get a raise, then," he said in a pleading tone. Pepper sighed, running a hand through her hair.

"Alright," she consented, sliding the pouch and the list into her bag. Before rising from the table, however, she gave a wayward glance at his opened notebook. "What are you working on now?" she asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"A super-strength potion," Tony answered, closing his notebook with a quick snap. Pepper's expression was growing more and more perplexed with every passing second.

"We're wizards," she reminded him. "Why do we need super strength?" Tony shrugged.

"It's something my father tried in his younger days," he explained. "But he could never get it to work. Seemed like a nice challenge." Understanding suddenly dawned on Pepper's face.

"You're trying to prove yourself to him," she said. Tony frowned, and stared at her for a moment.

"Last time I checked," he said, "I pay you to do my homework, not give psychological evaluations."

Pepper's eyes widened, her cheeks turning bright crimson.

"O-of course," she mumbled, snatching her bookbag and rising from her seat. "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate." Before Tony could respond, she had fled from the table, rushing back to her fellows Hufflepuffs. Yet another sigh escaped Tony's lips.

The Great Hall was beginning to empty. Students finished their dinner and made their way back to their dorms. Tony decided to join the flow of students and head down to the Slytherin quarters. With some luck, he could he get in some more work before his prefect patrol tonight.

After all, this potion wasn't going to invent itself.

* * *

**One Week Later...**

"Don't do it, mate."

Steve's brow crinkled in deep concentration.

"Take him out, Steve," Bucky was saying from beside him.

"Don't do this to me, Rogers," Sam pleaded from across the table. Steve bit his lip. Finally, with a heavy heart, he made his move.

"Checkmate," he said, leaning back in his chair as the pearly-white rook cantered across the chessboard and knocked over Sam's king. Sam fumed, his dark eyes narrowing.

"You're too good at this game," he muttered.

"Practicing usually does help," Steve replied with a smirk. Sam scowled.

"Evening, boys," a pleasant, but strong voice said, and Steve's heart leaped in response. A girl slid into the seat beside of Sam. Dark, curly hair framed her porcelain skin, and deep, brown eyes moved deliberately over each face as the girl greeted them with a kind glance.

"Hi Peggy," Bucky said with a smile, elbowing Steve underneath the table. Steve struggled not to cough, and offered Peggy Carter a shy nod.

"Hey," he mumbled.

"What mischief are you lot getting into?" Peggy asked, glancing at the chessboard.

"Oh, Steve was just giving Sammy a thorough whacking in chess," Bucky explained, giving Steve a hearty slap on the shoulder, causing Steve to flinch and Sam to glare daggers in Bucky's direction.

"You play chess?" Peggy said, her eyes piercing into Steve's. His stomach did a somersault.

"A little," he admitted. She smiled.

"We should have a go sometime," she responded. "I love a good match of chess."

"Y-yeah, that'd be great," Steve stuttered, an unexpected sense of elation bursting through him.

An awkward pause followed, and Steve drummed his fingers lightly atop the table.

"Well, what do you all think of Professor Loki?" Bucky asked after several moments of stilted silence.

"I think he's great!" Sam exclaimed, his face lighting up. "He's so... so suave, and elegant. And he really does know what he's talking about.

"He's very knowledgeable," Peggy agreed.

"He's also very mysterious," Steve pointed out.

"That's what makes him so interesting, you git," said Bucky. "I think he's bloody fantastic."

"You saw how he dodged that question about being a Metamorphmagus," Steve reminded them.

"Why does it matter if he's a Metamorphmagus or not?" Peggy asked, cocking her head to the side. "It doesn't affect his teaching."

"I don't know," Steve admitted. "It just seemed a little bizarre, that's all. He looked kind of annoyed at the question."

"I think Stark was more annoyed than anyone," Sam said, throwing a dirty glance to the boy himself. Tony sat on the other side of the library's studying area, where his head was buried deep inside of a worn notebook. "Merlin knows why he was so curious about it."

"He likes to cause trouble, that's why," Steve answered in a biting tone. No one had a response to that.

"Well," Peggy said with a soft sigh as she stood to her feet. "I should be off; I have patrol duty tonight."

"Oh good," Bucky said excitedly. "That means we can sneak out and cause loads of trouble."

"Bucky Barnes," Peggy exclaimed, planting her hands on her hips. "I expect a better attitude from a fellow prefect! And if you think for one moment I won't turn you over to the Caretaker if I catch you sneaking about, then you best think again!" Bucky gaped at her in horror.

"You wouldn't," he gasped. "You know what they say about that old crazy man." Peggy rolled her eyes.

"Matt Murdock is a perfectly adequate Caretaker."

"They say if he catches you out, he'll make you clean the entire kitchen," Sam said with a visible shudder.

"They don't call it Hell's Kitchen for nothing," Bucky added.

"You two are ridiculous," Peggy muttered, shaking her head. "Good luck getting them into a mental asylum, Steve."

"See ya, Peggy!" Steve called after her as she strode off towards the library exit.

"For Merlin's sake," Bucky said once she was out of earshot. "Just ask the girl out already,"

"I don't think I'm ready," Steve muttered, looking away. Bucky snorted.

"At the rate you're going, you just might be ready by the time I have grandkids."

"Come on, Steve," Sam urged. "What's the worse that could happen? Besides complete and utter rejection, of course." Steve sighed.

"You really aren't helping," he grunted.

"I don't think anyone can help you, Rogers," a lofty voice interjected. Steve gritted his teeth together, glancing sideways to see Tony pausing by their table. Steve leapt to his feet, scowling at the Slytherin with all the disapproval he could muster.

"Maybe not," he said. "But I'd be more than happy to help you to the nearest hospital." Steve curled his hands into fists. Tony chuckled, eyeing him up and down.

"All five-foot-two of you?" he mocked. "Take some advice, Rogers," he called back over his shoulder. "Don't pick a fight you can't win, which in your case, would be all fights."

Steve glowered after Tony as he swaggered off. He resisted the urge to rush after the boy and knock him to the ground; or at least try to. Bucky placed a comforting hand on his arm, and Steve took his seat with a great deal of reluctance.

"You good?" Bucky asked, his tone concerned. Steve answered with a stiff nod.

"I just know one thing," he said, glaring over his shoulder at the receding back of Tony. "I don't trust Loki or Stark."


	3. Managing Mischief

A cool, crisp breeze was whistling through the clear air as Natasha strolled through Hogsmeade. Crimson leaves crunched underneath her boots, and her scarlet hair swayed back and forth across her shoulders. She shoved her shivering fingers into the pockets of her leather jacket, ducking her head to avoid the gazes of the passerby.

Students wandered all about, yet it took little effort to stay clear of them. Natasha kept to the shadows, her narrowed eyes darting to and fro. She ducked her head as a group of girls strode by, several of them from Natasha's year in Slytherin. Not a single one even bade her a greeting. Natasha was, of course, quite used to this. She hadn't expected anything different. Still, there was an inescapable sinking sensation inside of her stomach as she scurried off the street, and walked swiftly through the swinging doors of the Three Broomsticks.

The atmosphere inside of the pub was lively, as always. Adults and students alike mingled throughout the spacious dining area. The delicious aromas wafting through the air tickled Natasha's senses, and she headed for the crowded bar.

Just as she had anticipated, she spotted a familiar, black-haired figure hunched over a notebook and a foaming mug. With a resigned sigh, Natasha slid onto the stool next to the boy. She glanced down at the parchment, filled with all kinds of scribbles and notes.

"Stark," she said, nudging the boy. Tony flinched, clearly oblivious to her presence.

"Romanoff," he responded in a clipped tone, closing his notebook.

"Any particular reason you didn't show up for patrol duty last night?" Natasha queried, although she wagered it had something to do with the bags nestled underneath Tony's bloodshot eyes, and the unmistakable stench of firewhiskey that tainted his breath.

"Oh, was that last night?" Tony replied, sipping his mug with a nonchalant smirk.

"Yes," Natasha answered, resting her forearms on the counter. "I'll let it slide this time, Stark, but you're lucky the Head Boy and Girl didn't find out." Tony's expression darkened.

"I'm sorry," he grumbled. "I must have missed the part where you turned into the model student." Natasha rolled her eyes.

"You're pathetic," she muttered, then eyed his closed notebook. "And for Merlin's sake, what madness are you concocting now?"

"Something that'll be remembered until the end of time," Tony said, the triumph returning to his tone. "Don't suppose you want to volunteer as a test subject, do you?"

"Not particularly," said Natasha. She grimaced, hopping off the stool. "But good luck with your recruiting." Before Tony could spout off a snarky retort, she waltzed away, then bounded back onto the main street.

The afternoon was quickly starting to fade into dusk. Natasha felt a pinch of sadness at the thought of returning to the confines of Hogwarts, as well as the inevitable stack of homework that awaited her. A lofty sigh escaped from her lips as she slowly made her way towards the end of the street, where a quiet, reserved meadow lay. She checked her watch, and nodded to herself.

The meadow seemed empty at first, save for a large boulder in the far left corner. Then, there was a rustle amongst the tall, yellowing grass, and a tall, four-legged creature emerged from behind the rock; a thestral.

Natasha smiled, and reached into her pocket for the apple she always brought to Hogsmeade. She approached the creature quietly, waiting for it to notice her. Its magnificent head suddenly arched upward, and it pawed the ground. Natasha paused, then held out the apple in the palm of her hand. The thestral's nostrils flared as it sniffed the air and delicately stepped forward.

The creature's beak-like muzzle nudged the apple as fangs slid out from its mouth. It snatched the apple, chomping down on the fruit with a snap. Natasha reached out, and patted the creature. The thestral snorted, rubbing its head against her shoulder.

"A marvelous creature, wouldn't you say?"

Natasha nearly leaped out of her skin in surprise. She whirled around, and the thestral shied away in confusion. Natasha's mouth slipped open as she realized who was walking across the meadow.

"P-Professor Loki?" she stammered, her mouth going dry. The tall, thin man grinned at her as he approached, gliding through the grass as his emerald-colored cloak billowed behind him in the breeze.

"Miss Romanoff," he said in a kind tone. "My apologies. I didn't intend to startle you."

"It's alright," Natasha assured him, although her heart was still pumping at a frantic pace. She studied the man with a wary gaze, noticing how his clear eyes scanned the premises, soaking in every detail. The thestral seemed convinced that Natasha was alright and trotted back towards her, nudging her hands for another treat. Natasha rubbed its neck, and glanced at the Professor. "You can see it?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Yes," was all Loki said as he reached out to pat the skeletal animal. He didn't appear inclined to share any more information than that, but Natasha decided to press on nonetheless.

"So, you've... seen death?" she inquired in a quiet voice. There was a pause, and Natasha felt a tingle run down her spine as she met the chilling gaze of Professor Loki.

"Yes," he repeated, and for a moment, Natasha thought she saw the faintest hint of a smile cross his face, before it dissipated into a blank expression. Her eyes widened, and she suddenly felt the intense urge to flee. Distrust bubbled inside of her test, much like it had when Loki had first been introduced to the school.

"I-I should go," Natasha murmured, giving the thestral one final pat on its rump before turning and making for the street as fast as her feet could carry her.

"I'll see you in class, Miss Romanoff," Loki called after her, his tone almost taunting her. Natasha shuddered, and kept her gaze trained on the dirt road ahead of her.

She made her escape and slipped down the street, back towards the safety of Hogsmeade. Natasha gritted her teeth together, and forced herself not to break into a run. She was unsure if it was her imagination playing tricks on her or not, but she couldn't shake the uncanny feeling of being watched.

Tony reached for the firewhiskey bottle stashed underneath his table in the library. His shaky fingers gripped the glass neck of the bottle and raised it to his lips, only for him to discover that it was empty. Tony scowled, slamming the bottle down on the table. Technically speaking, firewhiskey was banned on the Hogwarts grounds, but Tony's last name made certain that no one bothered him about his secret cache.

Grumbling to himself, Tony turned his attention back to the open notebook in front of him. He frowned as he glanced over the pages and pages of crossed-out notes and diagrams. He drummed his fingers against the wooden surface, racking his brain for anything that could help him in his conundrum.

In silent frustration, he raised his weary head. His brow furrowed as he noticed a short, curly-haired boy sitting alone at the table diagonal from him. His wrinkled robes were decorated by the crest of Ravenclaw, and Tony was hit by an idea. He gathered his things, then scrambled over to the table.

"Hey," he said, sliding into the seat across from the boy, who peered up at him from behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. "It's... Brad, right?" Tony went on, eyeing the black-haired boy up and down.

"Uh, i-it's Bruce," the boy corrected, his brown eyes wider than saucers. "Bruce Banner."

"Ah, right," Tony murmured, waving his hand in dismissal. "I remember you from the prefect carriage." Bruce nodded, still looking more than a bit confused.

"Anything I can do for you?" the boy asked, leaning his arms on the table.

"What do you make of this?" Tony queried, opening his notebook to the page with his potion's formula, and sliding it across the table. Bruce scanned the page, his expression growing more incredulous with each perishing moment.

"Is this... is this a strength potion?" the boy inquired after several seconds had passed. "Wasn't your father working on something like this?"

"Yes, and yes," Tony answered. "I think I'm close, but I need something to stabilize it."

"Hmm..." was Bruce's reply, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Well, you're right. Something like this is highly volatile."

"Any suggestions?" Tony asked, struggling not to sound too desperate. Bruce pondered the question, running a hand through his curly hair.

"Starthistle might be a good idea," he said at last. Tony released a heavy sigh.

"Starthistle..." he said, smacking himself in the forehead. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Sleep deprivation might be a contributing factor." Bruce raised an eyebrow at Tony's haggard appearance. "Judging from the looks of you, I'd say you better get some rest before you do any more work on this... potion project." Tony snorted.

"I'm fine," he replied. "If anyone needs their beauty sleep, it's you. I hear you're a hard person to handle when you get angry." Bruce's face turned bright red, and his grip tightened on the quill pen in his hand. "Sorry," Tony continued. "Not important. Thanks for the help, Banner."

"Where do you plan on getting the ingredients?" Bruce asked, his gaze narrowing as Tony started to rise from the table. Tony smirked.

"I do believe our Potions Professor has a lovely pantry just brimming with the freshest ingredients," he answered. "I don't think he'll miss a few things here and there." Bruce's eyes widened.

"Do you have... a... you know, test subject?" Tony hesitated.

"Still working on that bit," he admitted. "But I'm sure someone will come along. The first step is getting all of the ingredients."

"Be careful," Bruce warned, his expression a mixture of curiosity and fear. Tony's grin widened.

"Where's the fun in that?"

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I don't like this anymore than you do," said Natasha. "But Peggy wasn't feeling well tonight, and she asked me to take her patrol duty for her."

"Of all the people I could have been stuck with," Bucky muttered, shaking his head in disdain. Ignoring Natasha's indignant stare, he stomped away from the Entrance Hall with a huff. He heard the quiet pitter-patter of her feet as she struggled to keep up with his longer strides. After reaching a smaller, quieter corridor, Bucky relented and slowed his pace. He clenched his jaw, sneaking a sideways glance at the redhead girl walking calmly alongside of him.

"I didn't bring my knife, in case you were worried," Natasha said, breaking the silence with a wry glare in his direction. Bucky stiffened.

"Knives don't worry me," he shot back.

"They should," Natasha replied in an even tone. Bucky snorted.

"I suppose you would be the one to know," he murmured. "I'm sure your dad taught you how to use them quite well." At that, Natasha whirled around to face Bucky, her eyes glowing with a rage Bucky hadn't known was possible for her. They halted in unison, their gazes meeting each other in a cool reunion.

"I hated that man," Natasha spat. "And I think it's time someone around here finally understood that. I may be the daughter of a Wizard Hunter, but I am not my father."

With that, Natasha swirled around and marched on down the hallway. Bucky watched her go, a hint of regret washing over him. He chewed on his lower lip for a second, then chased after.

"Romanoff," he called, "I'm... I'm sorry, that was... that was inappropriate."

"Just shut up," Natasha grunted as they neared the next corner.

"Look," Bucky continued. "I'm not -"

"No, shut up," Natasha repeated, grabbing his arm to keep him from walking around the corner.

"What in the -" Natasha cut him off with a sharp elbow to his stomach. He glared at her in confusion, then followed the direction of her gaze as she peered around the corner. He snuck a look over her shoulder, and was greeted by a peculiar sight.

Around the corner and several yards down the hall, at the entrance to the Potions classroom, stood a dark figure. It was difficult to discern any noticeable features with the lack of light.

"Can you tell who it is?" he whispered.

"No," Natasha answered. "I'm going to get closer."

Before Bucky could protest, Natasha had slipped across the corridor, and was inching along the stone wall. Meanwhile, Bucky withdrew his wand from the inside of his cloak, and kept a steady eye on the mysterious figure, who disappeared into the Potions classroom.

"Over here!" Natasha beckoned, and Bucky spotted her opening the door to a small, broom closet opposite the entrance to the classroom. Bucky sighed, then tip-toed across the hallway to the closet.

He squeezed inside, and Natasha closed the door nearly all the way shut, leaving enough room for just the tiniest sliver of light to peer through. Bucky gazed through the small, grungy window in the door. He frowned as he thought of the mystery person rummaging through Professor Fandral's things.

"Did you get a better look at him?" Bucky whispered as he glanced through the window.

"No," said Natasha. "But I have a suspicion. Now, let me take a look."

Bucky stepped away from the window, and Natasha took his place. The closet felt smaller with every moment that ticked past, and Bucky couldn't help but feel uncomfortable at the lack of space separating him and Natasha. Luckily, she seemed to have forgotten their squabble from a few minutes earlier.

"Here he comes!" Natasha exclaimed in a hushed tone, and Bucky's attention was dragged back to the present. He nudged her to the side, scrambling for a view out of the window as the shadowed figured emerged from the room.

They watched as the thief walked out into the cobblestone corridor. When a ray of moonlight broke through a nearby window and illuminated the face of the elusive burglar, Bucky was certain his jaw dropped halfway to the floor. He blinked.

Then, before either he or Natasha could react, the man had ran back down the hallway, and disappeared.

"Was that..." Bucky began, his voice trailing off.

"Tony Stark," Natasha finished for him.

"What... in Merlin's name..." Bucky stammered. "What is he doing in the Potions classroom at this time of night?"

"Probably stealing some ingredients for his latest project," Natasha answered.

"We should go after him!" Bucky exclaimed, pushing open the door open. To his surprise, Natasha grabbed his arm again, stopping him from leaving.

"No," she said in a quiet, but firm tone. Bucky's mouth dropped open.

"Stark's a bloody prefect!" he hissed. "He can't just go around stealing things! I don't care what his last name is."

"I agree, but... he's up to something," Natasha pointed out. "Something big. If we tell Headmaster Odin now, we'll never know what it is." Bucky frowned, glaring down at her.

"You're willing to risk the the dangers of Stark's experiment to satisfy your own curiosity?" he replied. Natasha offered him a rare, sly smile in return, her eyes glinting in mystery.

"Yes," she said. "There are some strange things going on in this school. And like it or not, I'm making it my business to find out what they are."


	4. Steve Picks a Fight, Everything Blows Up

**(A/N: The last few chapters were a little rough because I wrote them like two years ago, but this chapter is almost entirely new, so hopefully it's an improvement! Enjoy, and let me know what ya think!)**

* * *

"Tony Stark did _what?!_"

Natasha shifted in her chair as Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson gaped at her from across the table.

"I swear, he was robbing the Potions room," Bucky said from beside of Natasha. "We saw it with our own eyes."

"It's the truth," Natasha murmured through gritted teeth. She had pleaded with Bucky not to tell anyone what they had seen the night before, but the pig-headed git had insisted. Now, she found herself sitting with the trio of unruly boys in the corner of the Library, garnering strange looks from her fellow Slytherins.

"Why in Merlin's name would he do something like that?" said Sam, his brow furrowed.

"I'm gonna take a wild guess and say he's making a potion," Natasha replied in a withering tone.

"I'm certain his father could get him any materials he needed," Bucky remarked. "Why does he need to steal them?"

"Unless he doesn't want his father to know about what he's doing," Natasha argued.

"Which means it's something dangerous," Steve added with a frown. All eyes turned to the skinny boy as he drummed his fingers along the wooden table.

"Why do I get the feeling you're about to suggest a terrible idea?" Bucky muttered.

"We need to know what Stark's up to," Steve responded, his eyes blazing.

"And how do you plan on uncovering such valuable information?" Natasha asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I'll ask," Steve said, shrugging his shoulders. There was a pause, then Bucky broke the silence with a groan.

"Brilliant," Sam replied, clapping Steve on the back. "I'll start the funeral preparations."

"I'll threaten him if I have to," Steve said, ignoring Sam's jab as he stood to his feet.

"Steve, let's talk about this," Bucky said, grabbing his arm to prevent the boy from walking away.

"There's nothing to discuss, Bucky," was Steve's sharp response. "Stark could very well be threatening the safety of the school." Natasha sighed as she watched the blonde-haired boy yank his arm away from Bucky's grip.

"Let me do it," she interjected, and the boys' gazes swiveled back towards her. "I can get to him. Go undercover. I happen to be very... persuasive."

"Why are you here again?" Sam retorted in a scornful tone.

"And why should we trust you?" Steve agreed. Natasha held back a scowl. She looked to Bucky for some support, but was greeted by a blank expression.

"Well, if you're so intent on ending up in the infirmary," she scowled, "I've never been one to turn down free entertainment."

"Good," Steve replied, his eyes narrowing. "Now, let's get on with it."

* * *

Steve marched to the opposite end of the library, where Tony was lounging with his feet propped upon a wooden table and a worn leather notebook in hand.

"Sorry Rogers," Tony called, lowering his notebook. "The intense glowering class was moved to the fourth floor."

"Enough with the games," growled Steve, crossing his arms over his thin chest. "We know you were in the Potions room past curfew last night."

"Do you, now?" Tony responded, tilting his head to the side with a feigned look of interest.

"What did you steal?" Steve asked in a threatening tone. "What are you planning?" Tony laughed.

"I don't have to tell you anything," he retorted.

"We're not leaving until you do," Bucky piped up from beside of Steve.

"I guess you better get comfortable then," said Tony. Steve unfolded his arms and gripped the edge of the table, leaning down until he was face to face with the boy.

"I can do this all day."

Tony laughed.

"God, please tell me that isn't your new catchphrase." Steve shut his eyes for a moment, resisting the urge to punch the boy across the face. He knew it wouldn't make much of a mark anyway.

"Stark," Natasha broke in, pressing herself between Steve and Bucky. "Just tell us what's going on."

"He's making a super-strength potion."

All eyes turned towards the short, curly-haired boy standing just behind Sam. Steve narrowed his eyes. The boy shoved his wire-rimmed glass up the bridge of his nose, shuffling forward to join the crowd gathered around the table. "I helped him. I know what he's doing."

"Who is this?" Sam and Bucky asked in unison.

"Bruce Banner," the boy answered. "Ravenclaw."

"He's a prefect," Natasha added, as if in warning. Bruce sighed.

"I'm not gonna turn you guys in," he said. "As long as you let me help."

"Whoa," Tony interjected, holding up his hands in protest. "I don't need any help."

"And who said we're letting him do this in the first place?" said Sam. Tony snorted.

"You won't stand in the way of innovation, will you?"

"No, but I'll stand in the way of stupid."

"Says the guy with an IQ lower than his age."

"Hey -"

"Everyone shut up!"

Steve blinked, surprised when everyone listened. He cleared his throat, searching for words.

"Well?" Tony queried,

Steve stared into the boy's dark, stormy eyes. He could sense that Stark wasn't asking permission, but still there was a hopeful glimmer hiding behind his iron demeanor. As the seconds ticked by, a tense silence growing among the crowd, Steve arrived at his decision.

"Let me be the test subject," he said in a low tone. No one said anything for a moment. Then a chorus of voices all started shouting at once.

"You can't be serious!"

"Have you gone mental?"

"What would your mum say?"

"I'm not planning your funeral -"

Tony stood to his feet, dropping the notebook onto the table with a silencing thud.

"Ok."

He reached out a hand. Steve hesitated, then grasped Tony's hand, giving it a firm shake.

"No one else is in danger, right?" he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. Tony smirked.

"No one except you, Rogers."

"We've got a deal then." Steve looked sideways towards Bucky, who responded with a murderous scowl.

"You can't do this, Steve," he hissed.

"I have to," Steve muttered back. "He's gonna do it anyway, and this means that no one else will be in danger."

"Alright," Tony interrupted, rubbing his stomach. "Spare me the speech before I throw up my lunch." He started packing his things. "Meet me in the Potions room at midnight. No one else besides you and your... gaggle of friends here. And Bruce, you might as well tag along too." Steve glanced around the table as everyone nodded in agreement.

"Then I guess we'll see you there."

* * *

It was a quiet night at Hogwarts as Tony made his way down to the Potions room. He shivered from the cold, wishing he'd brought a hoodie. Instead, he shouldered his backpack and made the last turn before sliding into the classroom.

Steve was already there, accompanied by Sam and Bucky. A spike of adrenaline coursed through Tony's veins. He swallowed the lump in his throat, throwing his backpack down on a desk near the center of the room.

"Ready to change your life, Rogers?"

Steve seemed to shudder for a moment, but he collected himself soon enough and joined Tony by the nearest cauldron. Tony directed Sam and Bucky to move some of the desks around to give them ample space. While the two of them set to work, Tony began unloading the jars of ingredients.

It was then that Bruce arrived, dusting off his cardigan as he approached.

"Banner," Steve murmured, dipping his head in a polite greeting.

"Bruce, give me a hand with these lacewing flies." Tony handed the boy a jar, then a mortar and pestle.

"When will the potion wear off?" Steve asked.

"Assuming my calculations are correct," Tony murmured, "Never."

When Steve didn't respond, Tony looked up from his backpack to see a look of shock etched across his face. Bruce wore a similar expression.

"H-how do you..." Bruce stammered. "What are you using to..."

"See for yourself," Tony said. He withdrew the notebook from his backpack, then set it on the desk. Bruce leaned over the notebook, adjusting his glasses as he scanned the pages, mumbling to himself.

"I... uh..." Bruce looked up, glancing between Tony and Steve. "I think this could work." Tony smiled, a burst of relief flowing through him. He would never have admitted it aloud, but he was glad Bruce seemed confident in the potion.

"So let me get this straight," Steve said, running a hand through his hair. "If this goes horribly wrong, and I end up turning into a... a gorilla or something... it's permanent?" Tony exchanged a look with Bruce, who shrugged.

"More or less," he replied. Steve narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to him. Tony tightened his grip on the jar of crushed leeches in his hand, standing his ground.

"You sure you know what you're doing, Stark?" Tony stared back into the boy's hardened eyes.

"Positive."

They stood there for a moment. Tony waited. Steve's gaze pierced into his own, sizing him up from the very depths of his soul.

"Let's do this then," the boy said at last. Tony released the air trapped in his lungs.

Before he could muster a response, Natasha burst into the room, breathless and frazzled.

"They... coming... couldn't stop..."

"What?" Sam screeched.

"Who?" Bucky and Bruce asked in unison.

"Steve Rogers!"

Tony froze as Peggy Carter stormed into the classroom. Her robes flew behind her as she stomped up to Steve and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. She dragged him off to the far corner, where they began speaking in hushed, but heated tones.

"Romanoff!" Bucky hissed, drawing Tony's attention back to the redhead. "What in the bloody blazes happened?" Natasha gestured towards the door, still struggling to catch her breath.

"They... they were on patrol... caught me on the way down..."

"They?" Tony repeated. "Who else is -"

"No one told me we had a party going on in here!"

Clint Barton strode through the doorway, grinning like an idiot. The boy shoved his hands into the pockets of his Hufflepuff robes, eyes swinging around the room with a jovial glimmer. "Well?" he said. "Where's this experiment?"

"What did you do?" Sam asked, shaking his head at Natasha.

"I had no choice!" she growled. "If I didn't let them come with me, they'd have turned us over to Murdock."

Tony sighed, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation.

"Why don't we just invite Odin down here to watch!" he exclaimed, turning back to the cauldron with a resigned grunt.

With Bruce at his side, Tony set his mind towards adding the ingredients to the giant pot. The mixture began to bubble and boil, just as expected. Tony added the final dash of powdered lacewing flies, smiling to himself as the potion turned a dark blue.

A flurry of voices came from behind him, and Tony spun around to see Steve and Peggy walking towards the group that was gathering around the cauldron. Neither of them seemed happy. Tony found himself holding his breath.

"I will have you know," Peggy said, stepping up to Tony with a scowl that could have melted stone. "If this goes wonky, I'll have your head on Odin's desk before you can even breath." Tony smirked.

"You got a real keeper here, Rogers," he called over Peggy's shoulder. Her expression darkened.

"I'm watching you, Stark," she scowled. The girl backed away, taking up a position behind Steve.

"Alright then," Tony said, clapping his hands together. "The potion should be ready in about an hour."

"So now we wait," said Steve. The boy had dawned a grave expression, as if he were facing doom.

With nothing else to do, the group dispersed across the room. Bruce stayed by Tony's side, keeping an eye on the potion. Steve plopped down on the floor beside the cauldron, wringing his hands together. Bucky, Sam, Natasha, and Clint were huddled in a corner playing a quiet game of cards. Peggy stood watch by the door.

Tony studied the students scattered around the classroom, wondering to himself how in the world half of them had even ended up here. With him, of all people. He sighed. This had better work. For all he knew, he might even get some friends out of it.

After an hour had passed, Tony was pleased to find that the potion was now a light, electric blue.

"It's ready!" he proclaimed. In an instant, everyone dropped what they were doing and rushed to the center of the room.

"It looks like slime," Bucky remarked, peering over the edge of the pot.

"That's what most potions look like," Sam reminded him.

"In case this goes... er, poorly," Tony broke in, "I want the rest of you out in the hall." He waved his hand to dismiss their indignant cries. "I'll be staying to make sure everything goes ok."

"Good luck, mate," Sam murmured, gifting Steve with a hearty slap across the shoulder.

"See you on the other side," Peggy added, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. Tony watched as Clint, Natasha, and Bruce dipped their heads in a solemn farewell. Bucky was the last to leave, wrapping Steve's small frame in a quick embrace. When they had pulled away from one another, Bucky turned towards Tony.

"Don't mess this up," he grunted.

With that, Bucky brushed past him and followed the rest of the group into the corridor outside.

"You ready?" Tony asked, unable to keep the nervous jitter out of his voice. Steve nodded, seeming not to notice. The boy was pacing back and forth as Tony grabbed a vial and began ladling the potion.

He let out a slow, deep breath, then turned around. With shaking hands, Tony handed the vial to Steve. The boy took it, staring at the blue liquid with a look that straddled the line between terror and anticipation.

"You ready?" Steve asked. Tony hesitated.

"Yeah," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "I'm ready."

By instinct alone, Tony stepped away from Steve until his back rested against the warm cauldron. Steve gave the potion one last glare, then downed it in a single gulp. Tony waited, his heart racing.

Nothing.

Steve looked down at his thin frame, disappointment crossing his face.

Then he threw his head back, a terrible scream escaping. Tony watched in horror as Steve collapsed to the ground, writhing across the tile as his body convulsed and shuddered. Tony could see the changes in the boy's face, and abdomen, and limbs. His arms and legs were stretching and growing. His chest was expanding. His face widened to fit the broad shoulders he now wore. There were horrible screams and cries coming from the boy, but Tony could do nothing but wait.

It was over as soon as it had began. Steve's eyes rolled back into his head as he slumped to the floor one final time, unconscious. Tony surveyed the boy on the ground below with awe, yet there was no time to process.

"That's it, I'm going in."

The door crashed open and Peggy entered the room. Bucky was right behind her, trailed by Sam and the rest. They all stopped once they crossed the threshold, gaping at Steve's body on the floor.

"Holy mother of -"

"It worked!"

"Is he alive?"

Tony reached down to check for a pulse, gesturing for all of them to stay by the door.

"He's got a pulse," he yelled. "I think he's stabilized."

"We should get him to the hospital wing," Peggy cried.

"Tony!" Bruce shouted all of a sudden. "The cauldron!"

Tony turned towards the cauldron, just a few scarce feet away. The metal was starting to glow, and he could see smoke rising from inside. Panic ensued.

Bolting towards the cauldron, Tony grabbed his wand.

"_Augamenti!_" A stream of water shot from the end of his wand, but it wasn't enough. Tony approached the cauldron, preparing another spell on the tip of his tongue.

Before the words could leave his mouth, there was a thunderous bang, and then a blinding flash of light. A hot, searing pain tore through Tony's chest and he found himself being thrown backwards. He hit something, probably a desk, and fell to the ground.

Everything was blurry. The pain was unbearable. He could hear voices all around him, but they were muffled and nonsensical. Spots swam before his eyes. The noises, the voices, the pain... everything started to fade.

Then it all turned to black.


	5. Consequences

**(A/N: Thanks to everyone who's taken the time to read this so far! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and feel free to drop a comment and let me know what you think!)**

* * *

Voices surrounded Steve as his eyes fluttered open. He squinted against the raging light overhead. Confusion riddled his brain at first, before his memories started to return.

Stark. The potion. Then nothingness.

Steve bolted upright, nearly toppling off the gurney.

"Whoa, take it easy mate!" Steve swung his gaze to the left and saw Bucky, Sam, and Peggy rising from their chairs to join him around the bed.

He was in the hospital wing.

As he looked down, the air seemed to vanish from the room. Steve's mouth fell open as he ran a hand across his chest, then down his arm. He was… different. Taller, stronger, faster. He didn't even have to set foot on the ground to know that he could outrun half the students at Hogwarts. A sense of elation burst through his veins. For the first time in his life, he felt powerful.

"It… it worked." As soon as the words left his mouth, Steve knew the words were insignificant and hardly representative of the pure awe simmering inside of him.

"Indeed it did," Peggy responded. Steve gulped at the sight of her. Her expression was hard to discern, but he supposed she was still displeased at his decision.

"Where's Stark?" Steve asked, trying to see beyond the curtain that separated them from the rest of the hospital wing. "Shouldn't he be here to gloat?"

No one answered at first. Steve inspected each of their faces, his eyes narrowing. Bucky was the first to break the silence.

"You don't remember the explosion?" He seemed hesitant to meet Steve's gaze, which worried him even further.

"Explosion?" said Steve. "What… no, I don't remember any explosion."

"You must have been passed out already," Sam said, keeping his eyes fixed anywhere but Steve's face.

"What happened?" Steve swung his legs over the side of the bed, waiting.

"The cauldron exploded," Peggy answered in a cool tone, as if this proved that the entire idea had been infantile.

"Is Stark alright?" Steve asked, inching off of the bed. Bucky stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Professor Frigga's still working on him," he said. "We haven't heard much but… well, it didn't look good."

Steve was silent for a moment. His stomach twisted. He ran a hand through his hair, then scratched the back of his neck.

"Oh Merlin…" he breathed.

"It's not your fault," Bucky murmured, ruffling Steve's hair like he'd done since they were just kids on the playground.

Before anyone could say anything further on the matter, footsteps approached from outside. Steve tensed, holding his breath as the curtains parted, revealing Headmaster Odin and his wife, Professor Frigga. The Headmaster wore a calm, but stern expression.

"Mr. Rogers," he said. "I'm pleased to see that you're still with us after such a foolish endeavor." Steve cleared his throat.

"Yes, Headmaster, you see I -"

"That won't be necessary," Odin interjected, exchanging a glance with Peggy. "I've received several accounts of what transpired last night, and Miss Carter has informed me that she wishes to take responsibility for allowing things to escalate the way they did."

Steve turned to Peggy in shock. She avoided his gaze, maintaining a blank expression. A wave of heat rose to his face.

"Sir, that's not -"

"Mr. Rogers," Odin said, holding up a weathered hand to stop him. "What's done is done. And believe me, you haven't gotten off scott-free." The Headmaster's hardened eyes passed over each student. "Especially since over half the students involved are prefects. Nevertheless, all of you will be serving detention three nights a week for a month." Steve's stomach plummeted, although he knew their punishment was more than fair.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he said, dipping his head. Odin sighed.

"As disappointing as your actions have been, it's no secret that your…" he paused, studying Steve with a slight frown. "Condition is…well, a marvel, to be frank.. My wife tells me that she's never seen anything like it."

"You're not going to reverse it, are you?" Steve bit his lip, clutching the sheets. To his surprise, Odin chuckled.

"I don't think we could, Mr. Rogers," he admitted. "As volatile as Mr. Stark's potion was, I don't think we should risk trying to create a counter-potion."

"How is he?" Peggy broke in. "Stark, I mean." Odin looked towards Frigga. The woman smiled, despite the lines of weariness etched across her brow.

"Mr. Stark is a fighter," she answered. "He's going to live, but his injuries were quite severe." Steve winced.

"We had to use extensive magic," Odin added. "I'm afraid his condition will be somewhat permanent as well."

"What… what do you mean?" Steve's gaze swiveled back and forth between Frigga and Odin, searching for answers.

"You will all be free to visit Mr. Stark in the next few days," was Frigga's response. She smiled again, although Steve noticed the tightness of her lips this time. "I'm going to keep you here one more night, Mr. Rogers. I believe Mr. Barnes brought some of your homework to pass the time."

Steve held back a scowl as Bucky handed him a backpack.

"I believe the rest of you can find somewhere else to be," Odin said with a pointed look.

"Yes, sir," Bucky, Sam, and Peggy replied in unison.

Odin spared them one last withering glance, then slipped out of the room behind Frigga.

"Well," said Sam, shifting his feet. "I suppose we'll see you when you're out tomorrow." Steve cracked a lop-sided smile.

"Thanks for staying with me," he said.

"Of course, you dolt," Bucky muttered, punching him in the shoulder. He flinched. "Can't believe you finally have a decent pair of biceps," he grumbled, rubbing his hand. Steve couldn't help but laugh.

"Sorry," he responded. Bucky's eyes softened.

"I'm just happy you're alright," he said with a meaningful glare. He followed Sam out of the room with one last wave, and Steve felt a splash of disappointment as their voices faded into the distance.

"Peggy," he said as the girl turned to leave. Her brown eyes widened, and she paused.

"What?"

Steve hesitated, then lifted himself off of the bed and onto the floor. He swayed for a moment, not used to being up so… high. His knees buckled, and Peggy rushed to help steady him as he leaned against the gurney.

"Thanks," he grunted, his face flaming. Steve could have sworn Peggy was blushing as she stepped to the side, which made his stomach do a somersault.

"I don't -"

"I just wanted -"

They stopped, then chuckled. Peggy tucked her hair behind her ears.

"You didn't have to take the fall for us," said Steve, shoving his hands into the pockets of the white cotton pants someone had gifted him. "It was my fault. I volunteered."

"I know that," Peggy assured him. "And so does Odin. But I'm a prefect. I should have turned you all in the moment I stumbled upon the… experiment."

"Well," Steve murmured, "I'm glad you didn't." Peggy responded with an exasperated glare, shaking her head as she turned to leave.

"Just do me a favor," she called over her shoulder. Steve raised an eyebrow.

"What's that?" Peggy met his gaze with a smile that seemed…sad, almost.

"Try not to change too much."

Steve's mouth went dry. He wasn't sure what to say.

"Uh… yeah," he stammered. "I'll try." Peggy nodded, then disappeared past the curtain.

Steve watched her go while the traces of a faint smile spread across his face.

* * *

Tony was drowning. Waves pulled him deeper and deeper into the abyss. He struggled against the crashing water, but to no avail. His arms and legs refused to obey, and his body continued to sink.

Just as his lungs were prepared to burst, Tony jolted awake. He sat up straight, his eyes wide and his brow drenched in sweat. He was in the hospital wing. His chest heaved, and Tony was hit with a wave of throbbing pain. He clutched at his heart, surprised to brush his hands against something cold and metallic. Tony looked down.

"What the…"

There was a necklace hanging around his neck. A circular pendant hung from the leather rope. It was some sort of metal, with glowing flecks of blue laced throughout the surface.

"Tony?" A head of curly black hair popped through the curtains separating the room from the rest of the wing.

"Bruce?" Tony said, his voice weak.

"You shouldn't be getting up," Bruce murmured, helping him lie back down on the gurney. "You were banged up pretty good, mate." Tony frowned, fingering the bandages wrapped around his chest.

"The cauldron…" he muttered. Bruce sighed, and Tony tilted his head to watch the boy place his hands on his hips.

"There were bits of metal flying everywhere," he said. "You were standing right in front of it when it exploded, so a lot of it… well, it went straight into you." Tony gasped from the pain sweeping across his abdomen, as if the memory revitalized the wounds.

"The necklace?" he asked in a strained tone. Bruce didn't answer at first, staring at the ground.

"Professor Frigga and Headmaster Odin placed a special enchantment on the pendant," he replied, shuffling his feet. "They weren't able to remove all of the fragments from your bloodstream, so this will keep them from getting to your heart." Tony inspected the pendant.

"So it's a magical magnet? Well that's just bloody fantastic."

"It was the only way to keep you alive," Bruce said, his tone defensive. Tony looked away, grinding his teeth together.

"Where's my notebook?" he asked after a moment of stilted silence.

"Ah, I've got it." Bruce reached into his backpack and pulled out the worn book. The edges were slightly charred, but Tony was relieved to find that all of his notes and diagrams were still intact.

"Thanks," he grunted, placing the notebook on the small table next to his bed.

"I should go find Rhodes," said Bruce. "He's been chomping at the bit to see you." Tony gave a weak nod in farewell, then let his head collapse into the pillow.

He drifted off into another fitful slumber, but awakened once again to find a dark figure hunched over beside of his bed. Tony squinted, waiting for his vision to clear.

"H-hello?" he called. The figure straightened, slinging some sort of pack across their shoulder. They turned around, and Tony realized it was Rhodey.

"Tony!" the boy exclaimed, smiling down at him. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"No…" Tony murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Don't… don't worry…" His voice trailed off. Spots were swimming before his eyes. An inescapable drowsiness rolled over him all at once, and his body seemed to be melting. His surroundings grew blurred.

Rhodey faded into the background, but for a brief moment… Tony peered through the haze, and thought he saw the glowing tip of a wand in his friend's hand. But before he could process the image, he fell into nothingness once more.

The next time he awakened, the room was empty. The dim light of dusk shone through the window behind him. Tony yawned, wincing as the pain in his chest caught up to him.

Voices approached, and Tony breathed out in relief as Rhodey and Bruce burst into the room.

"What were you thinking?" Rhodey screeched, stomping up to the gurney and glaring into Tony's eyes with a look that could have boiled an ocean. "You almost got yourself killed, you git!"

"I…" Tony stared at Rhodey in confusion. "I'm sorry?" He hadn't meant to phrase it as a question, and he regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth.

"You're sorry?" Rhodey was practically steaming now. "I've seen you do a lot of stupid things, Tony Stark, but this one has to take the cake."

"I uh…" Tony stole a peak at Bruce, who remained silent. "It's just…"

"It's just what," Rhodey spat, crossing his arms over his chest. Tony swallowed.

"You didn't seem angry last time you were in here," he said. Now it was Rhodey's turn to look perplexed.

"What in the blazes are you talking about? This is the first time I've seen you since you woke up." Tony narrowed his eyes.

"No," he argued, glancing between Bruce and Rhodey. "You were in here a while ago. I saw you. You said you were sorry for waking me, or something." Bruce stepped forward,

"Tony," he said, "Rhodey hasn't been here since this morning, when you were still unconscious."

"Sounds like you were dreaming, mate," Rhodey agreed. "And don't try to change the subject either, because I'm not finished -"

A thought struck Tony in the middle of Rhodey's tirade. He sat upright, ignoring the pain. He glanced at the side table. It was empty. He scanned the room. Nothing.

"No," he whispered, running a hand through his hair. His heart pounded at a frantic pace. "No, no…" Rhodey gave a loud sigh.

"What now?"

"My notebook," said Tony. Fear loomed inside of him as he turned back towards Rhodey and Bruce. "It's gone."


	6. Hell's Kitchen

Natasha didn't have many friends at Hogwarts. Or anywhere, really. Her family history had all but ensured that her standing in the Wizarding World was permanently stuck at the lowest rung on the ladder.

It was a surprise, then, to hear a voice calling after her as she trailed behind the crowd of students heading towards the Great Hall for lunch.

"Romanoff!"

She paused, swiveling her head to see Bucky racing towards her. His Gryffindor robes were flapping behind him as he pushed past a pair of Hufflepuffs and slowed to a halt beside of her. She couldn't help but smirk at his disheveled appearance.

"Someone missed their alarm this morning," she mused as he walked alongside her.

"I nearly missed Astronomy," Bucky groaned. "Professor Heimdall just about had my head on a platter." Natasha bit her lip.

"You can skip the chitchat, Barnes." She glanced sideways. "What do you want?" Bucky seemed taken aback by her bluntness, clearing his throat.

"I just… uh… I wanted to see if you were coming to detention tonight?" Natasha narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"Of course I am," she said. "We all are."

"Right," Bucky replied, scratching the back of his neck. Natasha sighed.

"Why are you here?" she asked, stepping aside as they entered the Great Hall.

"What do you mean?" Bucky cocked his head to the side, and Natasha frowned at the piercing look within his eyes.

"All of you have treated me like dirt ever since I stepped foot in this blasted school," she scowled. "You don't get to dismiss that and act like it never happened."

"I didn't -"

"We're not friends, Barnes," Natasha spat. "We're not pals. We're not mates. And you have no right to expect that of me after one night of foolishness and no apology."

Bucky's face hardened. Natasha clenched her hands into fists, refusing to flinch. The air between them seemed to thicken, and Natasha found herself holding her breath.

At last, the boy tightened his jaw and spun on his heels, marching away to join his friends at the Gryffindor table. Natasha watched him go, her muscles relaxing. Shaking her head, she collapsed at the end of the Slytherin table and dived into a plate of roasted chicken and potatoes.

* * *

There weren't many people with the fortitude to slap Tony Stark. Hardly anyone had dared to even to look at him since the "incident". The boy had taken to marching around the school with a scowl that would have curdled milk if given the opportunity. Even Rhodey had maintained a safe distance between the two of them.

Pepper Potts, however, was not one to let a hearty scowl dim her determination.

And so it happened that when Tony Stark entered the library following his release, he was greeted by a flurry of ginger from the nearest table.

"Tony Stark!"

"Pepper, I -"

Before Tony could finish, Pepper had struck her hand across his cheek. A wave of gasps echoed from the tables nearby. He gulped, letting the sting roll across his face as he met her fierce gaze. Her face was aflame with a mixture of anger and relief.

"Could you be anymore of a moron?" she screeched. Tony flinched, ignoring the stares of curious passerby. "You could have been killed! Or killed someone else!"

"Well if you're not the hundredth person to remind me of that," Tony muttered. He brushed past her with an idle frown, gritting his teeth at the indignant huff that followed.

"Tony!" she hissed, scrambling after him as he dodged a pair of Ravenclaws and scurried down a narrow aisle.

"Spare me the lecture," Tony grunted, swinging his head back and forth to scan the shelves. Pepper grabbed his arm, pulling him back to face her.

"I can't let you do this," she said. Tony couldn't resist a smirk at the annoyance curling the edges of her lips.

"Do what exactly?" He ran his hands along the books on the shelf beside of him. "I wasn't aware that reading was a crime here."

"I can't let you keep going on with these hair-brained schemes of yours," said Pepper. Tony sighed. He had come to the inevitable conclusion that Miss Potts wasn't going to relent until she was satisfied.

"Look," he said, letting her walk alongside him as he journeyed to the next aisle over. "I messed up. I made a mistake. I never should have tested that potion on someone else."

"You never should have tested it at all!" argued Pepper.

"Maybe," Tony admitted. He paused, standing on his tiptoes to reach a weathered book on the top shelf. "But now I have another problem in need of solving." Pepper's eyes narrowed in suspicion. She eyed the book he had snatched from the shelf.

"Wand Manufacturing?" she read. The skepticism was practically dripping from her voice.

Tony plunged a hand into the pocket of his robes, and withdrew two thin slats of wood. As one touched the other, there was a sizzle and pop from within the cracked wood. Pepper stared at the broken wand in horror.

"Tony…" she murmured. "I'm so sorry… surely if you took it to Ollivander's -"

"He can't fix it," Tony interrupted. "No one's ever figured out how to mend a broken wand."

"Well," said Pepper. "If you -"

"This was my fault." Tony grasped the cracked strands in his hands. "And I'll fix it." Pepper stared at him as if he'd sprouted a second head.

"But you just said that no one's ever figured out how to fix a broken wand." Tony slid the pieces of wood back into his pocket.

"Good thing I'm not no one, then," he replied with a leering grin.

"You can't fix everything!" Pepper exclaimed. "And if you're not careful, you're going to kill yourself trying!"

"I don't have a choice!" said Tony. Pepper blinked, confused.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked. Tony hesitated, scanning their surroundings to ensure that no one was listening in.

"There's something fishy going on around here," he answered, dragging his gaze back to hers. "Someone stole my notebook." Pepper snorted, the tension in her shoulders releasing.

"You're worried about a conspiracy because some first year snatched your precious notebook?"

"That notebook has all of my work in it," Tony said in a defensive tone. "Including an incomplete recipe for the potion I used on Rogers."

"So someone could try and replicate it," Pepper finished for him,

"Exactly," Tony muttered, gesturing for her to follow him as he headed for the next aisle. "And if they try it without the stabilizing agent… well, they won't turn out like Rogers, that's for sure." He glanced sideways, eying Pepper up and down. "Seeing that you're also a prefect, I'm sure you wouldn't want any more accidents to happen." The girl clenched her jaw.

"No," she relented. "I suppose not." She folded her arms across her chest. "Do you have any idea who might have taken it?"

"I've got one," Tony responded. "But I sincerely hope I'm wrong." Pepper's eyes widened.

"And if you're not?" she asked in a tentative tone. Again, Tony hesitated.

"If I'm right," he said, "then we need to be worried about something a lot worse than a rambunctious first year."

* * *

"Steve, come _on_!" Bucky groaned. "We're going to be late!"

"I'm ready," Steve called from across the room, setting his comb down. Bucky hopped off of his bed, leading the way towards the door. As Steve joined him, Bucky spared a moment to survey his friend's damp, freshly-combed hair. He pursed his lips in amusement.

"It's detention, Steve, not a date."

"What?" Steve's eyes were wide, like a deer caught in the headlights. Bucky laughed as they skipped down the stairwell towards the Gryffindor Common Room.

"You just spent a solid ten minutes on that mop of yours," he said. "No doubt for Peggy."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Steve muttered, dawning a look of innocence. Bucky patted him on the shoulder.

"Keep tellin' yourself that, mate."

Together, they slipped past a group of Gryffindor girls and headed towards the exit tunnel. Bucky wasn't blind to how all of the girls eyed Steve now. He was used to being the one who caught their attention, but if he were honest, it was nice to see their eyes on someone else for a change.

As they slid past the portrait of the Fat Lady, Bucky took the lead and set off in the direction of the Entrance Hall.

"You know," said Bucky, "Quidditch tryouts are next week." Steve chuckled.

"I'd never make it on the team," he replied, waving his hand in dismissal.

"A week ago I would have agreed with you," Bucky admitted. "But look at you now! You could make a beastly goalie!"

"But -"

"C'mon," Bucky pleaded. "I didn't have any friends on the team last year, and it was miserable!"

'So miserable you won the whole bloody tournament," Steve reminded him in a withering tone.

"You know," Bucky mused, "I'm sure Peggy would just love to date a Quidditch player."

"Give it a rest, Buck." Steve's voice was firm, and Bucky knew to lay off. There were some things Steve had never been fond of discussing openly, and girls were the top item on the list.

The boys found their way down to the Entrance Hall, where they encountered Sam and Clint. They were emerging from a stairwell that led down to the Hufflepuff dormitories. Sam's face melted into a relieved expression as he saw Bucky and Steve approaching.

"Time to see what tortures Murdock has cooking for us," he muttered, shaking his head as the four of them slipped down a narrow corridor. A row of torches guided them to a darkened room. Tony, Bruce, Peggy, and Natasha were already waiting outside the door.

"Is he here?" Steve whispered.

"There aren't any lights on," Bruce answered, squinting through his glasses as if it would allow him to see through the black void just inside the open door.

"Maybe he forgot," Sam chipped in with a hopeful grin.

"He probably got caught up somewhere else," Peggy replied. "I'm sure he'll be here soon."

Before anyone could raise their voices to argue, there was a rustling sound from inside the office.

"Come in, students."

The raspy voice that had spoken was loud and authoritative, but hardly threatening or sinister. Still, all eight students jumped at the sound, taking a moment to gather their wits before stepping into the darkness. Bucky reached into his pocket, grasping his wand for what little comfort it could give him. As the small crowd crossed over the threshold, the same voice uttered "_lumos_", bathing the room in a soft white light.

The caretaker's office was small and cramped, bearing the miserable stench of dust, parchment, and spilled ink. The stone walls were bare of any windows, paintings, or decor. Books lined the shelves, but Bucky noticed that none of them were marked by letters; rather, they were marked by rows and rows of small bumps, organized into an intricate pattern.

Behind the desk sat the caretaker of Hogwarts, Matt Murdock. Bucky had seen Murdock around, of course. Everyone had. But he'd never been so close to him before. Standing before him now, Bucky's eyes were wide and curious.

The man was younger than one would expect; he couldn't have surpassed his thirties, Bucky guessed. He wore a red jacket and matching trousers. A pair of dark sunglasses rested on the bridge of a sharp nose, framed by scruffy brown hair and a relaxed smirk. Murdock was blind, as anyone with two brain cells could ascertain. It remained an enigma amongst the students how he managed to navigate so effortlessly through the school.

"Odin has informed me that all of you are to serve the harshest form of detention as punishment for your actions." Again Murdock spoke in a voice that commanded every ounce of attention from the students. A line of sweat formed along Bucky's brow, and his heartbeat accelerated as he shuffled his feet beside Sam.

"That's correct, sir," said Peggy, the only one brave enough to respond. Murdock shifted his head at the sound of her voice.

"Very well, then." The man stood to his feet. "I believe you all know where to go." Bucky held back a groan.

"Wonderful," he muttered to himself.

"There's no need to grip your wand so tightly, Mr Barnes." Bucky stiffened as Murdock rounded the desk, peering at him through the black lenses of his sunglasses. "You won't be needing it quite yet."

The boy opened his mouth, but nothing came out save for a quiet squeak. He drew his hands out of his pockets, balling them into fists by his side. The smirk widened across Murdock's face as he pushed past Bucky and made for the door.

"I knew he'd stick us in the kitchen," Sam murmured under his breath, watching with a scowl as Murdock whisked out of the door.

"Then perhaps you'd like to lead the way, Mr. Wilson." The caretaker's voice echoed back to them from the hallway outside.

Sam's face twisted in a combination of fear and shock. Bucky hid a grin as Sam gulped, then scurried out of the room to join Murdock. One by one, the rest of the troupe trickled after him.

Bucky found himself following behind Natasha, who hadn't so much as looked at him since the incident this morning. His face turned red at the thought, and he ducked his head to avoid staring at the crimson hair swinging back and forth across her shoulders.

They reached the lower level of Hogwarts, and Sam was the first to enter the gargantuan kitchen. The room was enormous, lined with wooden tables and counters for chopping, grating, and all sorts of culinary activities accomplished by the house elves. Copper pots and cast iron pans hung from hooks bored into the stone wall, although most of the dishes sat in a mound beside the gigantic sinks. The floor was slick with grease and bits of spilled food.

To put it lightly, the place was a mess.

"Welcome to Hell's Kitchen," said Murdock. He swung his arm in a broad gesture to the disaster surrounding them, which Bucky thought odd since the man was… well, visually challenged.

"Do we have to clean this whole place?" asked Clint. Murdock smiled.

"I hardly think it'll be more difficult than blowing up the Potions classroom."

"It was one cauldron," Bruce grunted.

"Mr. Banner," said Murdock. "Why don't you get started on those dishes? I think Mr. Stark should make a suitable partner."

"Stark?" Bruce called. Bucky turned towards the Slytherin boy to see him staring off into space. "Stark?!" Bruce repeated, causing Tony to jerk out of whatever stupor had overcome him.

"Yeah, coming," he yawned, shaking his head and trailing after Bruce towards the sinks.

"Mr. Barton and Mr. Wilson," Murdock continued, "the house elves tell me that the pantry could use some organizing."

"On it," Sam answered in a miserable tone. The boys meandered off to the wide double doors leading to the storage room.

"As for the rest of you," said Murdock, "Get to mopping. Mr. Rogers and Miss Carter can take the north end, and Mr. Barnes and Miss Romanoff can handle the south."

Panic rose like bile inside of Bucky's throat.

"Mr. Murdock, I -"

"That'll be all, Mr. Barnes." The caretaker's scarlet jacket swirled around him as spun on his heels and marched back to the exit. The doors swung shut behind him, and there was a loud clang as the lock slid into place.

"We better get to it, Steve," Peggy spoke up, grabbing a mop and bucket. Bucky resisted a laugh as Steve, face flaming, followed suit and scrambled after her. Their voices faded into the distance.

That left Bucky with Romanoff. The redhead seemed aloof, her lips pursed into a tight line as she snatched a mop and bucket of her own and set off without speaking a word. Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Romanoff!" he called, running after her.

"Spare me, Barnes."

"Yeah, I… I mean no," Bucky stammered, falling into pace beside of her. "I mean… just hear me out." Natasha sighed, then paused. Her eyes were dim as they raised to meet his.

"I'm listening," she said, leaning against the handle of her mop. Bucky hesitated, shifting from side to side.

"I just wanted to say that I… I'm uh… I'm sorry." Natasha's eyes widened. "You were right," said Bucky. "About everything. It was completely unfair for all of us to treat you like that, and it was out of line for me to act like it never happened." A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"Thanks," she replied. "I appreciate you saying that." The tension in Bucky's shoulders dissipated from relief.

"I guess I should be careful," he laughed, picking up his bucket as they resumed walking to the far south side.

"Oh?" said Natasha.

"Looks like we might end up as friends after all," Bucky answered. Natasha seemed flustered at first, but composed herself after a moment of stilted silence. She cleared her throat.

"Only if you're on board for conspiracy theories and covert investigations." Bucky shrugged.

"Hey, I'm free this weekend."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"Who are we investigating?"

"Well," Natasha answered, "you'll probably think it's silly. It's probably nothing."

"You really gotta work on your sales pitch," Bucky mused. Natasha splashed him with her mop.

"What do you think of Professor Loki?" she queried. Bucky set his bucket on the floor with a frown.

"I think he's fine. Why?" Now it was Natasha's turn to hesitate.

"I… I think he's up to something," she said, looking around as she spoke, as if someone might be listening. "I don't know what, exactly, but I think Stark might be involved."

"Stark?" Bucky exclaimed. "You think they're working together?!"

"Keep your voice down!" Natasha hissed. "And I don't know anything for certain. I just know it's awfully suspicious that Tony Stark suddenly has the insight to create such a dangerously powerful potion, right as a mysterious new professor shows up."

"I still don't see anything concrete connecting the two," Bucky said, sweeping his mop along the floor. Natasha joined him with her own mop.

"I haven't found any solid evidence yet," she admitted. "But hasn't Stark been acting weird since the incident?"

"Well he was almost killed," Bucky reminded her. "And his wand broke during the explosion. That's bound to drag anyone down."

"Hmm," was all Natasha responded with. Her face was scrunched in a look of deep concentration. Before either of them could say anything, there was a burst of laughter from the other end of the room. Steve and Peggy were hard at work, and deep in conversation. Bucky looked down at the pail of water at his feet.

"Hey," he said, cracking a grin. "Watch this." Natasha snorted.

"The infamous last words of every Gryffindor ever." Bucky ignored the taunt and pulled his wand from the pocket of his robes.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," he whispered with a swish and flick. The bucket began to rise off of the floor, the water sloshing back and forth. By the careful direction of his wand, the pail rose higher and higher, then began floating towards the other side of the room. It crept closer and closer until it was hovering above Steve and Peggy, who were hunched over a particularly nasty grease stain.

"Oh Merlin." Natasha clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

"Hey Steve!" Bucky called. Steve and Peggy raised their heads in unison. "Thought you could use a shower!"

Bucky twisted his wand. The bucket rotated upside down, spilling its soapy contents onto the students below. Bucky and Natasha roared with laughter as Peggy screeched in horror and Steve hopped up and down in shock, then slipped and fell on his rump with a loud thump! All eyes in the room turned towards the commotion as Steve clambered to his feet, fuming.

"_Bucky!_"


End file.
